


1000 lives (for you)

by desitonystark



Series: AU-gust 2020 [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (??), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, BAMF Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Character Death, Developing Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Winter Soldier Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 20,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25633870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desitonystark/pseuds/desitonystark
Summary: On the 10th of December 1991, the Asset is taken out of cryo, and there is a name on his right wrist.On the 16th of December 1991, he is sent out to shoot the tyre of a car, and then kill the man and woman inside.When he returns to base, there is a boy, no older than 17, chained to the wall of his room, shivering and bravely fighting back tears.It does not occur to the Asset until much later than these two events are connected.//AU-gust Day 3: Soulmates AU
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Series: AU-gust 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1858159
Comments: 296
Kudos: 562





	1. 20 kills // 0 kills

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Silverhaunter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverhaunter/gifts).



> [this brilliant idea is not mine](https://silvahhauntah.tumblr.com/post/189094896514/okay-but-consider-those-super-interesting-bucky%22), and all credits go to @/silvahhauntah on tumblr. major s/o to @ohjustpeachy and @redsridinghood for looking this over!! 
> 
> just a note: the passage of time in this fic is measured by kills, and this is denoted as the chapter name. also, this is meant to be part of a larger series. so just keep that in mind while reading.

On the 10th of December 1991, the Asset is taken out of cyro, and there is a name on his right wrist.

On the 16th of December 1991, he is sent out to shoot the tyre of a car, and then kill the man and woman inside.

When he returns to base, there is a boy, no older than 17, chained to the wall of his room, shivering and bravely fighting back tears.

It does not occur to the Asset until much later than these two events are connected.

The years pass, and the boy becomes the Assistant, and the Asset becomes familiar with the sight of coming back from the mission to see him propped up on a chair, tools out to fix whatever malfunction has presented itself in the left arm.

The Assistant is kind - careful not to hurt the Asset during these sessions. He maneuvers himself so that the Asset doesn't jostle any wounds sustained in the missions; and when his Handlers aren’t looking, sends a rare smile the Asset’s way. Comforts are rare with HYDRA, and the Asset hoards those smiles like a dragon hoards gold.

It is frequent and it is familiar and it is comforting in a way that the Asset did not think he could ever feel again — until he makes the mistake of letting his feelings be known.

It is a routine check-up, necessary maintenance before the Asset is sent out to smother a Sheikh with his pillow, and the Assistant is bent over his arm - legs dangling and body contorted in an impossible position.

There is a screwdriver held precariously between his lips, his hair is pushed back by safety goggles, and the Assistant’s nose is a hair's breadth away from his arm.

The position means that the Assistant’s ass is presented up in the air, and a HYDRA agent makes the mistake of reaching out and giving it a tap, causing the Assistant to yelp and fall against the Asset’s chest.

In one swift motion, the Asset reaches for the screwdriver and drives it into the agent’s neck; simultaneously shifting the Assistant behind him in a protective stance.

“I see your instincts have finally kicked in,” says a voice behind them, and the Asset and the Assistant turn as one, to face an unfamiliar man. From the way he stands though, the Asset knows that this man is their Handler.

Pierce, the Asset thinks, reaching back to remember when he was first introduced to the man, Alexander Pierce.

“I must admit,” Pierce continues, “I was worried that I had gotten my hopes up too high. That we might have fried the emotions out of you. I’m glad to see that isn’t the case anymore”

“Asset,” Pierce points at the Assistant, “I would like you to formally meet your soulmate, Anthony Edward Stark”

/

The Asset is no stranger to the Chair, having been subjected to its torture for more years than he can remember.

It is a unique brand of torture, however, to watch the Assistant be subjected to it – to watch his body writhe and shift and undulate against the restraints, desperate to get away from the pain.

He burns with the desire to rip him away from the pain and protect him from it, to hold him in his arms and shield him from the horrors of the world.

 _Anthony,_ he mouths out the name, unable to look away as his soulmate cries silently against the gag, _Anthony._

They could’ve had a nice life, the Asset thinks, he could’ve made Anthony happy in an alternate universe.

But in this one, he is the fist of HYDRA – and he has brought his soulmate a world of pain by simply existing.

In front of him, Anthony has stopped moving, falling limp against the Chair, and his Handler, Pierce, has motioned for someone to take off the restraints.

The Asset wets his lips and opens his mouth in preparation for the gag – but Pierce _tsks_ , walking over and pushing his chin until the Asset closes his mouth.

“No more of that,” Pierce says, “we no longer need to use the Chair to keep you compliant. Not when we have a much more effective method.”

The Asset watches as Pierce walks over to Anthony, running a gentle hand over his cheek in a way that could be mistaken for affection, had the Asset not known his true nature.

Anthony stirs under his hand, eyes blinking widely before they settle on the Asset, but before the Asset can do anything, Pierce turns Tony’s face towards him sharply.

“Your name,” Pierce says slowly, “is Aegis.”

Anthony mouths the words back blankly, and a look of satisfaction crosses Pierce’s face.

“You are the property of HYDRA,” Pierce continues, and then turns Anthony’s face back towards the Asset, “and you are to be his leash.”

An agent moves forward suddenly and injects Anthony with something that makes his back arch, head thrown back in a silent scream.

“What did you do to him?” the Asset asks, before he can hold his tongue, “What did you inject him with?”

“It is not for you to be concerned about Asset,” Pierce says smoothly, moving aside so two men can drag Anthony away, “All you must remember is that from now on – if you fail at your missions, your soulmate will be punished for it.”

“Now, I believe you have a Sheikh to kill?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more to come!! most of this is already written already so, after August, updates should be pretty regular, barring any unforeseen circumstances.


	2. 25 kills // 5 kills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James starts to relearn who he was before HYDRA

_**11 years later** _

There used to be a simplicity in being the Fist of HYDRA - something soothing in the monotonous motions of being let out of the cryo tube, presented with a table of arms and ammunition; and then given a name.

It was by no means the best method of employment, but in his darkest moments, James could admit that there were worse ways to be used.

Plus, his job had come with the unique benefit of forgetting his actions; it absolved him of any guilt in an extremely twisted way. After all, how could you harbour guilt for actions you aren’t aware you’ve committed?

It wasn’t a life that James wished on anyone - but, he reasoned, there were worse lives for a Prisoner of War.

And then HYDRA got a hold of his soulmate, and James was subjected to the unique torture of his memory.

He hasn’t gone to the Chair for the past 5 kills; and his Handler has celebrated the coming of three separate new years. Still, he prefers to measure time in kills. Old habits die hard and all that.

The very first memory came during the aftermath of his 21st kill, while he was waiting for transport to come pick him up after he’d stabbed a US Senator and then positioned the body to make it look like a mugging gone wrong. It was of a woman with slightly grey hair standing at the door of a rundown house and yelling _James_ , and of a much younger boy yelling back _Coming Ma!_ Later that night, he arrived at the realisation that the young boy had been him.

He has conflicting visions of a burly man he called Cap, and the same face on a stick-thin figure he called Stevie. Somehow the two are related - but James hasn’t yet accessed the memory that tells him how.

He has a sister in Brooklyn called Rebecca and a mother called Winifred who is likely dead. He has a fascination with plums that he reasons is linked to their scarcity in the War, and he always wanted ink on his left arm.

He can’t tell for certain how long he’s been under HYDRA’s employ - but it is certainly longer than a decade.

He has a soulmate whose name is Anthony Edward Stark, who he calls Tony in the crevices of his mind but who only responds to _Aegis;_ James doesn’t know much, but he does know this - that Tony has been shackled to the room of his cell far too long to still retain the physique of a 23 year old man. He suspects that it has something to do with the golden liquid that Pierce injected into his veins 3 years ago; but without access to his full memories, James isn’t sure.

All he does know for certain is that Tony is his soulmate, and that while James might’ve been content to live out the rest of his life in indentured servitude, he won’t subject his soulmate to that life.

The one benefit of being able to retain his memories is that James is more cognizant than he’s ever been - and it means he can plot and plan.

And so he does.

/

Being out of cryo is a constant journey of relearning emotions and sensations. James had been so accustomed to the cold seated deep under his bones that he had forgotten what it felt like to feel the sun against his skin.

Of course, in his present state, there is no sun. Night has long since fallen, and from his position in the branches, he can feel the wind whisper between the leaves and sift through his hair. Another sensation that he’s had to relearn.

In another moment in time, James would take the opportunity to bask in these newfound sensations, revel in the chance to relearn what it means to be human. In the present moment, however, all his focus is geared towards the man who occupies the house that he is currently surveilling: Alexander Pierce.

Pierce doesn’t know that he’s surveilling the house, of course, because that would defeat the purpose of the mission. It’s been three years since James has sat in the Chair, and he’s on the cusp of a fully formed escape plan.

Before he was James, before he was the Asset, before he was the fist of HYDRA, he was a sniper, and as such, he learned how to stay quiet and observe. Pierce is gearing up for something big, something that will bring HYDRA out of the shadows and reveal them to the world. A plan of that magnitude requires time and dedication, and Tony and James have been neglected.

He doesn’t remember much about Stevie, bits and pieces that come to him when his brain is idle- but he remembers enough to know that Stevie won’t take news about HYDRA resurfacing quietly. He has a distinct memory of Stevie fighting a man with a red skull for a face, and he instinctively knows that this man is HYDRA. It stands to reason that if the Cap of his memories would stand up against HYDRA, then the current Cap would do as well.

He remembers being strapped to a hospital bed, and Cap with Stevie’s face looming over him. He remembers Cap/Stevie saying _“I joined the army”._ Hopefully, present Cap/Stevie has joined whatever modern-day version of the army exists as well.

So while Stevie is out fighting HYDRA, James can grab Tony, and they can slip away in the chaos. It’s not a perfect plan - he still isn’t sure how to help Tony work through the extensive brainwashing - but it’s the closest they’ve ever been to freedom.

James doesn’t know much, but he knows that if he doesn’t make his move now - if he doesn’t get Tony out before HYDRA reveals themselves - that they may never get a chance again.

Of course, all of this hinges on James ascertaining _where_ they’re keeping Tony; hence the current need for surveillance.

It’s been close to a month since James has been allowed to see his soulmate, and it's imperative that he locate Tony before HYDRA realises what he’s doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit [04.02.2021]: I had a question about the timeline, so I thought I'd just clarify here. Tony is taken when he's 17, and the events of the first chapter take place when he's about 26. Between the first chapter and this chapter, there's a time lapse of about 11 years. James isn't taken to the Chair, but he *is* kept in cryo between missions, so his sense of time is extremely skewed up. The phrase "and his Handler has celebrated the coming of three separate new years" isn't meant to be indicative of three consecutive years, but I can see how it might seem like that; and for that I apologise. In order to make this more clear, I've added *11 years later* on the top of this chapter
> 
> This fic takes place according to the original timeline, so Tony still is 38/39, but because of what he was injected with in chapter 1 - he *looks* like he's still only 26 years old. Hopefully that clears a couple things up!!


	3. 26 kills // 6 kills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's something happening in HYDRA, and James sees a window of opportunity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, major s/o to both Steph and Peachy for beta-ing this fic, and making it actually semi decent

There is a saying that James recalls hearing once, that _the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry._ It is quite fitting for his current situation as he waits in the shadows of Pierce’s kitchen for him to come back.

Part of escaping HYDRA requires that HYDRA not know of his plans to escape; so he must go when they call. Two nights ago, Pierce vacated his house to meet an entity known as the _Council_ , and James was able to access his personal computer and ascertain where Tony was being held. Before he was able to act on this information however, HYDRA came calling.

It was a small stroke of luck that Pierce asked to meet in his house, because it gave James the opportunity to learn about his enemy. Of course, it was not that Pierce was aware that James had been inside his home for the last two days, and it is an advantage that James would’ve been foolish to give up.

Still, sitting on a chair in Pierce’s kitchen when he could be out liberating his soulmate makes James angsty.

It speaks a lot to the man’s character that Pierce doesn’t even flinch when he realises that James is already waiting for him, and merely extends a carton of milk.

“The timetable has moved,” Pierce says, pouring himself a glass. “Our window is dwindling. Two targets, Level 6, they already cost me Zola. I want confirmed death in 10 hours.”

Pierce looks at him expectantly, like he’s waiting for a reply. James isn’t sure why, he’s never expected a response before. However, before James can come up with a suitable reply, Pierce’s housekeeper Rosetta walks back in and James’ heart twists.

“I really wish you would’ve knocked, Rosetta,” Pierce says as James reaches for the gun strapped to his leg. He fires two clean shots in succession, and bites back his flinch as her body falls to the ground with a _thud._

“I know that wasn’t easy for you,” Pierce says, clearly unbothered by the dead body in his kitchen, “and normally I would reward your good behaviour. But like I said, we’re pressed for time.”

Pierce cocks his head, as if he’s assessing James for the first time, “I trust you understand what’s at stake?”

James nods shortly, and Pierce beams at him, “Well then, I look forward to seeing you in 10 hours.” He reaches for his briefcase and sets two files down on the table before standing up and cleaning his glass.

“Don’t stay up too late!” Pierce calls over his shoulder as he leaves the kitchen, presumably to go to sleep himself. James clenches his hand into a fist. He could end it right here, kill Pierce in his sleep and then go after Tony. Nobody would know until they were too far away to be found.

There’s a lot that James despises about being out of cryo, a lot that he hasn’t enjoyed relearning. But by far the worst of it all, is _morals._ He itches for his gun, but instead reaches out and grabs the first file.

The only way for HYDRA to be stopped is if Stevie goes after them, and in order for that to happen James has to leave tonight with Pierce alive, even if it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

He thumbs open the file, smiling when a grainy photo of Steve Rogers looks back at him. Perhaps this whole thing isn’t over after all.

/

One of the good things about Pierce’s confidence that James will never defect is that it’s made him lax over the years, made him slip up and say things that he shouldn’t say. Things like _“our window is dwindling.”_ Pierce cannot afford to split his time between James and what he has now learned is called Project INSIGHT, which means it is more than likely that between now and when James finally finds the time to go after Tony, he will not be moved.

So, James’ mission is simple: he must keep Stevie occupied, but he must not injure him too severely, because an injured Stevie is of no help to anyone. With the way Steve is charging at him with reckless abandon however, this is proving to be harder than he originally remembered.

The few memories he has of rough-housing with Stevie were of a boy that barely came up to his shoulders, and could easily be blown away by a stiff wind. The man who is currently swinging his shield at James is decidedly not that same person.

His arm is still recovering from the device that the Widow threw on it, causing it to malfunction, so he flexes the panels in an attempt to get the gears back in place. It’s not the perfect solution, but it does just fine in a pinch. It's the only reason James is able to grip his knife and drive it into the van just next to Steve’s head; close enough that nobody will question him, but far enough that it doesn’t lead to any injuries.

It’s been a while since James has fought against an opponent who matches him step for step - who parries his every move - and he’s finding that he enjoys it. It’s almost like a dance, albeit with guns and knives and shields.

 _All fights are just elaborate dances, Natalia_ , a voice says dimly, and James is momentarily arrested in thought. He’d been so focused on accessing his memories about Stevie that he’d ignored why the Widow was so familiar to him.

 _Natalia,_ he thinks to himself, picturing a young girl with bright red pigtails - before he remembers who he is, _where_ he is. He tries to hold his own, but he’s a second too late — Steve grabs onto his chin and flips him over, sending him flat on his back.

Without lifting his hand to check, James knows that his muzzle has been pulled off; and the jig is up. This isn’t how he wanted to tell Stevie, but it looks like he has no choice.

He pushes up to his feet, swaying slightly as his muscles groan with injuries. In front of him, Stevie is frozen in shock.

“Bucky?” he says, but before James can reply, Natalia picks up the modified missile launcher and shoots, and it's only his instincts that make James jump back in time. Sirens fill the air, and James knows that this is his chance, probably his only chance.

And so, using the chaos caused by the mini-grenade, he makes his escape, sparing only one glance backwards to see Stevie on his knees, surrounded by HYDRA agents.

He aches to go back, to help Stevie - but he forces himself to keep moving anyway. No matter what Stevie meant to him - still means to him - if it's between Stevie and Tony, James will choose Tony every time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is just a general heads up that updates will be a little slower as we get closer to my uni opening up and i get busy with work. i have the next two chapters written and beta-d, but i want to be able to keep a constant backlog so that updates can be semi-regular, so updates might slow down a bit while im working on the fic


	4. 32 kills // 12 kills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James goes to Malibu.

_Stark Headquarters, Malibu._ James repeats the location in his head over and over, committing it to memory. It makes sense, in some twisted way; after all, HYDRA didn’t have much motive for killing Howard Stark. If anything, the endless money that he emptied into SHIELD made him an asset - an unwitting asset, but an asset nonetheless, so it stood to reason that somebody else needed the Starks dead.

However, if James truly is to liberate Tony, he must first ascertain _who_ within Stark Industries stood to gain the most from the hit, which is why he’s currently in a public library, cap pulled hastily over his head to shield his face and a long sleeved tee to hide his arm.

He’s got two tabs open; one is the official Stark Industries webpage, and the other is CNN. It hasn’t been long since his altercation with Steve on the bridge, not more than 48 hours, but he knows that SHIELD has already been dismantled. Everybody knows that the helicarriers crashed into the side of the Potomac, that Natalia put HYDRA’s dirty little secrets out to air.

James tries to not think too much about what the dismantling of HYDRA means for Tony, because if he dwells on it, he might do little else. Instead, he focuses on another aspect of HYDRA’s demise - that Steve is now free of obligations and is most likely looking for him.

James is confident in his abilities, but he isn’t naive to think that he can outrun both HYDRA and Stevie forever. Consequently, D.C. might not be the best place to lay low, but until James can figure out a way to travel to Malibu without attracting attention, he has to make do with what he’s got.

Giving the CNN tab a cursory glance, just enough so that he’s completely up to date with the events of the world — _Avenger to stand trial after thousands of covert files are leaked to the internet —_ James switches back to the Stark Industries page.

From the looks that the man sitting beside him is sending his way, he doesn’t have much time before he needs to disappear. The fact that his arm is damaged, grunting every time he moves it, can’t be helping. He scrolls through the page as quick as he can until he finds - _bingo._

 _“Obadiah Stane, CEO of Stark Industries. Mr. Stane was a personal friend of Founder Howard Stark, and he took over the reins of his friend’s company after Stark and his wife met with a tragic accident”..._ the description goes on, but James has seen enough.

The man he’s looking for is undoubtedly Obadiah Stane. He closes both tabs, taking care to clear his search history before he exits the library. Even though the websites aren’t particularly unusual, he doesn’t want to take any chances.

He slips into the first clothes shop that he can see, grabbing a couple of items off the shelves before exiting through their back door and into the alley. It takes not more than a few seconds to shrug off the clothes he’s wearing and pull on the ones that he’s grabbed. The trousers are a couple sizes too small for him, so he tugs at the stitches until they loosen; grimacing at the way they sit over his legs.

But beggars can’t be choosers, and James has more important things to worry about aside from ill-fitting jeans. He has to figure out a way to kill the CEO of the world’s leading weapons manufacturer.

/

James does not like trains. It is a strange emotion, because he feels extremely detached from memories of his life as Bucky Barnes, sniper extraordinaire, but he does not like trains. It matters not that the train he fell from was precariously balanced on a steep mountain while the train he is currently waiting to board is cemented firmly in the ground; he cannot shake the pit in his stomach at the idea of boarding a train.

But pit or no pit, James cannot board a flight with a metal arm, nor is he confident in his ability to drive - and so, if he must reach Malibu, the only available mode of transport to him is a train.

He presses down on his thighs, because nervous movement is a sure-fire way to draw attention to himself, and instead tries to focus on something else while he waits for the train to pull into the platform.

As if summoned, Tony’s face materialises from the insides of his mind. Tony is younger in this memory, from a time before he was subjected to the Chair. Memories of Tony from his time as the Assistant are rare; so James clutches onto it with two metaphorical hands and _pulls,_ determined to unlock it.

_“You have a furrow in your brow,” The Assistant says, poking at the Asset’s forehead, “Am I doing something to hurt you?”_

_The Asset looks back at the Assistant blankly. It has not been given permission to talk. If one is being technical, the Assistant has not been given permission to talk either - but the Handlers are willing to look past this transgression as long as the Assistant’s work is up to the mark. The Asset is unsure whether it would enjoy the same liberties._

_The Assistant looks back at the Asset expectantly, before throwing his hands up in the air. “I can’t work like this!” he cries, putting his tools down and glaring at the Asset. “You need to tell me if I’m hurting you or not”. There is something in the Assistant’s voice that makes the Asset lose composure, and it takes a chance, glancing at the Handler before realising it’s mistake and looking straight ahead. It is only a small glance, but the Assistant notices, because his expression turns from one of frustration to one of sympathy._

_The Asset is unclear why the Assistant looks so upset. The Asset is a machine, a tool through which HYDRA shapes the future. It does not know much, but it does know that tools rarely elicit feelings of sympathy._

_“Okay,” the Assistant says softly, leaning in so close that the Asset can feel his breath against its neck, “Let’s do this. Blink once if it doesn’t hurt, and twice if it does. Okay?”. The Asset nods almost imperceptibly to indicate that it understands. The Assistant beams at him, and the Asset thinks that it might nod more if this is the reaction it gets from the Assistant._

_The Assistant straightens himself and picks his tools back up, shifting slightly so he can bend over the Asset and work on it’s arm. Before he ducks his head and starts working, though, he looks at the Asset and winks._

James is startled out of his thoughts by the extremely loud announcement that the train was pulling into the station. Resisting the urge to groan, he grabs his duffel off the floor and boards the train, none-too-gently pushing through the crowd until he finds an available seat and slips into it.

He isn’t used to the idea of being exhausted, but he also can’t deny that the day's events are catching up with him. His last coherent thought before he slips into blissful unconsciousness is that he now has another reason to dislike trains.


	5. 33 kills // 12 kills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Malibu Soldier.

Malibu is both familiar and unfamiliar to James.

His first couple of hours in the city are spent first desperately trying to outrun the knot in his stomach that had built from sitting on a train for too long, and then canvassing the Stark Industries building to try and ascertain where Tony could be held. It’s a tall, looming building, and there are no immediate suspects. There’s only so much time that James can mill about the building before security gets suspicious, so as the sun goes down, he abandons his perch and decides to explore the city instead.

Which leads him to where he is now, walking aimlessly around Malibu Pier in an attempt to look like a glass-eyed tourist. He doesn’t know if HYDRA is still on his tail, but he imagines that if they are, they wouldn’t expect him to be frequenting a tourist haunt. There’s something about this place though - this _city -_ that sets him on edge, that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

But he can’t focus on that now, can’t focus on rediscovering his past, not when his future is somewhere here in this city, possibly in unspeakable pain.

_The Assistant runs his fingers across the words on its arms, tracing the loops ever so softly. Before tonight, it had not known that there were words on its arms. There is nobody here but them, because the Assistant has asked the Handler for a night with the metal arm._

_“I can improve it,” he’d said, barely looking at the Asset before refocusing his attention on the Handler, “but I can’t work like this. I can’t work in intervals, not when you won’t even give me a pencil to jot down my ideas. If you want me to fix his arm, you have to give me undivided time with him.”_

_“His arm does not need fixing,” the Handler half yelled but the Assistant dug his heels on the ground and replied, “It hurts him!! Every day!! What kind of monsters are you that you’ll let him stay in pain?” The Handler glared at the Assistant and for a moment, it expected the Handler to backhand the Assistant. Whatever it is that it sees, the Assistant must see it too, because he changes track._

_“You need him at full working capacity right? Fully functional? He can’t do that if he’s in pain. Even if you don’t care about his pain, you can’t tell me you don’t understand that while he’s in pain, he can’t work at his best. It’s impossible.” The Assistant held up one of his tools threateningly, “I can demonstrate for you if you like, jam this into your right arm and see how well you ‘function’ after that.”_

_The Handler sighed and said, “Fine, but I will have someone routinely checking your progress to make sure you aren’t doing anything funny.”_

_Two days later, the Assistant is still working on its metal arm, though at present moment he has abandoned his mission in favour of the words on the Asset’s flesh arm. “Do you know what it says?” The Assistant asks suddenly, looking at the Asset with wide eyes, “your words - has anyone told you what it says? What it means?”_

_No, the Asset thinks, but doesn’t reply. It has not been given permission to speak. It appears that there was no need for a response however, because the Assistant’s face twists into one of sympathy and he clucks his tongue. The Asset is getting used to seeing sympathy on the Assistant’s face, though it is yet to understand why. “It’s a name,” The Assistant explains, “It’s the name of your soulmate. Actually, it’s my name.” He shifts the Asset’s hands so that the Asset can see the words, “Anthony Edward Stark. That’s my name. I’m your soulmate.”_

_The Assistant is obviously expecting some sort of response from the Asset, but it has none. The Assistant’s face falls, naked sadness etched on his features, and the thought of the Assistant being sad doesn’t sit right with the Asset. It doesn’t know why, because there is no mission that says it must prioritise the Assistant’s happiness, but then again - the Assistant has no mission directive that says it must alleviate the Asset’s pain and yet he does it everytime._

_Soulmate, it mulls over, uncomprehending of what the word means. “What does -” its voice is hoarse from disuse, and it is aware of the consequences of speaking out of turn, but it must know, if only to alleviate the sadness from the Assistant’s face, “What is a soulmate?”_

_There is pity in the Assistant’s eyes, but the Asset is unsure why. “A soulmate is your person,” he explains softly, “The person you love, the person you trust, the person who -”_

_“- who helps with your pain?” The Asset asks with halting uncertainty, and the Assistant nods, “Yeah, the person who helps with your pain.”_

_“You are, you are my soulmate,” the words feel heavy on its tongue, “Anthony Edward Stark. Soulmate.”_

_“Soulmate,” ~~The Assist~~ Anthony repeats, “and I prefer Tony.”_

“A soulmate is the person who helps with your pain,” James repeats softly aloud, watching the water crash onto the legs of the pier, and wondering just how badly Tony was suffering. Just how much pain he couldn’t help Tony with.

/

It takes three nights and three days before James notices that there is a hidden basement in the building.

He manages to secure himself a janitorial position in the bottom floor by incapacitating the current janitor and methodically stripping him off his uniform. He’s careful to tuck the ends of his hair back and to pull down the sleeves to cover his metal arm, making himself small and obsequious so that nobody asks any questions.

The first half of his shift is spent on high alert, before he realises that nobody is taking a second glance at a janitor. After that, he relaxes, shoulders loosening and focusing on observing his surroundings rather than making sure nobody is observing him.

Obadiah Stane steps out onto the bottom floor, and James flexes his hands around the handle of the janitor’s cart, fingers twisting around it hard enough that the plastic strains under his grip until he loosens it. He watches from the corner of the shadows as Obadiah picks up a file from the front desk - even though James knows that he employs Personal Assistants to do this very job - and then makes his way over to the elevators.

Obadiah flits on his feet, looking surreptitiously around him, but it’s only after the elevator on the left opens and he deigns to enter it, choosing instead to wait for the one on the right - does it occur to James that he is not going back up to his office like he previously assumed.

And if Obadiah is not going up, it stands to reason that he is going down. Except, James knows the design plans of this tower like the back of his hand. There _is_ no down.

If James was a betting man - and he thinks he was, fragmented memories of being huddled around a measly fire and arguing with a distinctly french man - he would bet that Tony is underneath the building, being held in a basement that nobody knew existed.

Now it was just a matter of getting there.


	6. interlude: Steve Rogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve thinks about his next steps, now that SHIELD has fallen, now that he knows that Bucky is alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the chapter i've been most excited about posting ever since i wrote it, so hopefully you guys like it!! we will be back to our regularly scheduled James POV from the next chapter!!

In an ideal world, Steve would not be contorting himself to fit onto Sam’s admittedly comfortable (if a little worn out) couch. He would be lying in his own bed, in his own apartment, blissfully unaware that the pretty blonde who lives two doors down from him is not a nurse like he previously assumed, and the blood on her scrubs is from a mission in a nondescript country that is above his pay-grade. 

Instead, he’s lying on his side, one leg hanging off the edge of the couch while the other is pulled tightly to his chest, wondering what kind of shit luck it is that he met both of his soulmates and then almost died within a week of meeting each other.

He pushes himself to a sitting position, resigning himself to yet another night of no sleep; and shifts so that his wrist is illuminated by the faint moonlight that’s streaming in. _Samuel Jonathan Wilson,_ the first name reads in a loopy, cursive font, and under it, in choppy, aggressive print is _Natalia Alianova Romanova._

He isn’t stupid.

He knows that all he has to do is go up the stairs, to knock on Sam’s door, and both Nat and Sam will shift to make space for him on the bed. He knows because they said as much after Steve was discharged from the hospital and showed up at Sam’s door, because after Bucky, after Pierce, after free falling into the Potomac and being encased inside the reinforced steel that made up the Helicarriers, he couldn’t bear to be alone.

He needs them close, but he isn’t willing to make that final step.

Natasha has her own theories about why he hasn’t gone home, and so does Sam. He knows because he heard them talking in the kitchen a couple of nights ago; when they both thought he was still asleep. Natasha thinks that the apartment doesn’t feel safe for him, now that he knows every other tenant in the building was a SHIELD plant. Sam thinks that falling with the Helicarrier brought back memories of crashing the _Valkyrie_ in the ocean, and that he needs to remind himself that he’s not gone in the ice for seventy years this time.

They’re good reasons, believable reasons.

But neither of them are the truth.

The truth is, the last time Steve took his eyes off someone, they fell off a train and down a seventy foot drop only to show up strapped to the gills with an arsenal that Steve can’t even name. 

He isn’t about to let the same thing happen to his soulmates. 

There’s the shuffle of feet behind him, and it’s a testament to how much Steve trusts them that he doesn’t even lift his head to check who it is, simply shifts on the couch to make space - gaze never leaving his wrist.

“I knew him,” Natasha says, apropos of nothing, even though Steve was expecting something like _can’t sleep?,_ or _come to bed with us._ “He trained me. When I was in the Red Room. We knew him as Soldat. He was part of our graduation.” Her voice twists, like the word _graduation_ leaves a bad taste in her mouth. “We had to fight him. Prove that we could overpower someone stronger and faster and bigger than us. Not everyone could.”

Steve hums, but doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t know where Natasha is going with this, but he can tell that this is something she needs to get out.

“The next time I saw him was almost 10 years later, after Clint found me, after I’d defected to SHIELD.” She lifts up her top, ever so slightly, and pulls down her trousers. It’s faint in the moonlight, but Steve can make out the scarred wound of a bullet hole, “He ruined bikinis for me forever.”

Steve gives her a wry look, “Somehow I don’t think this is the life altering disguration you think it is.” 

“You’re just saying that because you want to see me in a bikini,” Natasha quips back, and for a second, the tension breaks, and Steve can pretend that they’re normal soulmates who met under normal circumstances - instead of the reality.

“If I’d known,” she starts haltingly, “If I’d known what he was to you, who he was to you, I would’ve told you.”

There’s a desperate tone in her voice, and it suddenly occurs to Steve that Natasha thinks he _blames_ her for Bucky.

Frantically, he reaches for her hands, clasping them inside his and bringing them close to his mouth to press a dry kiss, “You couldn’t have known. Hell, I knew him all my life and I still barely recognised him. You couldn’t have known.

“This isn’t on you, I promise you.”

“It’s not on you either,” she says firmly. “There’s no way you could’ve known he’d survive that fall. Or that he’d end up in the hands of HYDRA.”

Steve wants to disagree, but he doesn’t think it’ll be welcome, so instead he says, “I have to go after him. I don’t know how, or when, or even where to start, but I have to go after him. It was _my_ choice not to send a rescue team down to the valley, which means it’s my responsibility to bring him back.”

“When you say mine, you really mean ours, don’t you?” Both Steve and Natasha turn as one, to see Sam leaning against the doorframe. “Because I know you aren’t thinking of going after him alone.”

Steve wets his lips, and wishes he had water nearby for his throat, “I can’t ask you to do that, Sam. I’ve already asked for enough.”

“I don’t remember you _asking_ ,” Sam says with a derisive snort, “this is me offering. Besides, you’re going to need Tasha’s contacts if you want to get close enough to this guy, and it always pays to have an eye in the sky.”

“Do you know people who’d be able to help?” Steve talks around the lump in his throat, fighting against the twist in his stomach over the fact that they’re willing to risk their _lives_ for him, and he couldn’t even get into bed with them.

“I’ve already put out some feelers,” Natasha ducks her head, and it dawns on Steve that both of them _planned_ this. It should rub him wrong, the way Natasha ambushed him with a story to get his guard down, the fact that Sam slid in with no particular fanfare, but it just makes him feel cared for. It makes him feel loved, in a way that he doesn’t remember feeling for a very long time.

It reminds him of the way Peggy kept tabs on Bucky’s Division, just because she knew that Bucky meant something to him. 

“He’s in Malibu,” Natasha continues, “Or, at the very least, that’s where the most reliable intel puts him.”

“What’s in Malibu?” Steve asks, “I don’t - we didn’t, I’ve never been to Malibu. Neither has Bucky.”

Natasha and Sam share a look, one that Steve can tell instinctively comes from years of living in each other’s space, of co-existing as one, instead of two separate people. He wants to ask them how they met, if they waited for him, if they ever felt like something was missing - but this isn’t the time, or the place.

(He’s not sure he wants the answers either)

“There was talk of _Soldat_ having a soulmate,” Natasha says in a hesitant tone, “That HYDRA had gotten their hands on the soulmate, that they use him as a leash to keep the _Solat_ in check. I never believed the rumours but, the man I saw on the bridge - he was more aware and alert than I’ve ever seen the _Soldat.”_

“When I knew him, the _Soldat_ was blank, more machine than person. We used to whisper that he was an automaton built by HYDRA, because you could not even see his chest rise and fall when he took a breath. During my graduation ceremony, I struck him across the side of his cheek, and it made him bleed. If I hadn’t seen him bleed with my own two eyes, I would’ve never believed it to be true.”

“ _Anthony Edward Stark,_ was Bucky’s soulmate’s name,” Steve says, rubbing the back of his neck, “We always thought that he might be Howard’s brother - or a distant cousin. It’s why Bucky dragged me to the Stark Expo that night. We never found him, but he never gave up hope.”

Sam sucks in a breath, “That’s not Howard’s brother. That’s his son.”

Steve whips around, “What?”

“A couple of years after the War, Howard married an italian gal by the name of Maria. They had a kid, just the one, a son named Tony. _That_ was his full name; he was supposedly named after his grandfathers. He disappeared a couple months after his parents’ accident - took the whole world by storm, too.”

“My Ma followed the case religiously for months,” Sam continues. “Said it was a damn shame, because the kid was whip smart. You know he got into MIT at fourteen? He had a bit of a wild streak, but everybody who was anybody said that he was going to change the world. His best friend, James Rhodes, was one of my superiors for a while. He’s the one who suggested my name for the FALCON project.”

“There’s an SI office in Malibu,” Natasha says. “Fury could never prove it, but he always suspected that Obadiah was behind Tony’s disappearance.”

Steve thinks he’s going to be sick, “Zola said - Zola said that Howard’s death wasn’t an accident. You don’t think..?”

“Without Tony, nobody stood in the way of Stane inheriting the company,” there’s a detached tone in Natasha’s voice, but Steve doesn’t think it’s from a lack of emotion. More to the point, he thinks she’s worried about showing too much emotion. Nobody knows HYDRA the way Natasha does, not even Steve. 

“But Sam’s right. Stark was brilliant, and even if HYDRA killed Howard - there’s no way they would kill Tony. Not when they could use him.”

“It’s possible that HYDRA took Tony in,” she grimaces. “I can make a couple of calls, find out how much truth there is to HYDRA getting their hands on the _Soldat’s_ soulmate.”

“No,” Steve’s voice is surprisingly firm, “If what you’re saying is true, we don’t have the time to verify this. Bucky’s there _alone,_ and god knows what state Tony is in - or what he’s going through. Bucky’s going to need backup, and I don’t plan on waiting around. I failed him once; I’m not going to fail him again.”

“Okay,” Natasha says softly, and Sam shuffles closer to place an arm on Steve’s shoulder. “Okay. We can leave tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is just a heads up that updates will be a bit slower from here on out, because my uni starts on monday. also, i don't think i've mentioned this before but i am also on [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/desitonystark)  
> 


	7. 34 kills // 14 kills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James makes a new friend (and reunites with some old ones)

He’s been working as the janitor for close to two weeks, and he’s no closer to figuring out access to Stane’s secret elevator. From what James can tell, the elevator is not solely in use by Stane, because he’s seen a lot of people who’re pointedly __not__ Stane enter the elevator and go up to their respective offices.

Which means that either there’s a second entrance to the underground basement, or there’s something within the elevator that responds only to Stane, and that’s how he’s getting it to go down without anyone else stumbling and pressing the wrong button. Since Stane makes it a point to come down to the lobby and take the elevator, James is inclined to believe the second option.

Except - and he’s so close to the edge of his patience that he might actually tear his hair out - James has been on the inside of that elevator numerous times, ostensibly to cleanit, and he can’t find a single thing out of place. He’s studied the inside of that elevator so closely that he could probably draw it from memory, but he can’t see any difference between this elevator and the neighbouring one.

And the longer he takes to figure it out, the more pain Tony is suffering through.

It’s unacceptable, and he’s got half a mind to rig the whole building to blow, casualties be damned, so that he can break into the basement and steal Tony away. 

Fucking __morals.__

He’s so caught up in the elevator conundrum that it takes him ten minutes to realise that he’s got a tail, that someone’s been following him ever since he left Stark Industries and started making his way back to the two-bit apartment he’s been squatting at ever since he realised that he wouldn’t be able to save Tony overnight.

James uses a full one second to mentally berate himself about the fact that he’s been __slacking,__ that not noticing a tail sooner could mean the difference between Tony’s life and death, and then he slips into a familiar mindset and works on losing his tail.

It doesn’t take long. Whoever’s following him is good - good enough that James didn’t notice them sooner - but James is better. He takes a left where he would usually take a right, abandoning his general route through the richer side of town in favour of murkier grounds. 

It’s easy work to slip into an alley in between one traffic light and the next, and he bends down, fishing his knife from its ankle holster as he waits for his tail to catch up. They pause at the junction of the alley, close enough to the shadows that if James wasn’t looking for them, he would’ve missed them.

But he is looking for them, which is why he takes two smooth steps and swings his arms around their neck, shushing them before they can make a sound and pressing the metal of his knife against their neck, tight enough that even the smallest movement will draw blood.

“You have five seconds to tell me who you are and why you’re following me,” he hisses in their ear, walking backwards so they’re completely covered from sight, “or I will drain you of your blood where you stand.”

“You’re getting sloppy __Soldat,”__ his tail returns. It takes a second for James to place the voice, and he just narrowly misses the way Natalia attempts to elbow him in the gut. “I’ve been following you for twenty minutes.”

“I made you at the first traffic light,” James bears his teeth, and Natalia twists out of his grasp, pulling her gun out and pointing it at him. “You still haven’t answered why you’re following me.”

Natalia doesn’t put her gun down, even as James loosens his fighting stance, but he doesn’t expect her to. Both of them know that if James wanted to, he could kill her before her finger even tightened around the trigger, but that’s not what this is about.

This is about Natalia finding out who she’s dealing with, because even though she calls him __Soldat,__ she knows that __Soldat__ never talked. He was never allowed to.

James is both familiar and unfamiliar to her, and the feeling is mutual.

“I have someone who’s waited a very long time to see you again,” Natalia says eventually, “and I’m hoping you’ll come with minimal force.”

 _ _Stevie,__ James thinks, even though he has no proof.

“I’ll come,” he says finally, “but you need to do something for me.”

/

Natalia leads him back down the path they came in, and James wonders if he should’ve insisted that they go back to his place, if only so he could arm himself with more than a knife, before rejecting the idea and quietly following her instead.

Clearly, Natalia and Stevie were much more prepared for their trip to Malibu, because the house that Natalia is walking towards is much nicer than the apartment that James is squatting at. Much nicer than any living arrangements that James has been subject to in the last decade, for that matter

It makes his skin crawl, like he’s somewhere he doesn’t belong, like he’s out of place in this neighbourhood with the perfectly cut hedges and the two cars in the driveway. He can feel the grime and sweat on his skin acutely, like it’s cloth that’s encasing him, screaming __I don’t belong here.__

Somehow, he doesn’t think this feeling comes from HYDRA. This is something that predates HYDRA, something linked to mashed potatoes and stew. If he sticks out his tongue, he thinks he can still taste them.

“We’re here,” Natalia says firmly, but not unkindly, like she knows that James was elsewhere, but he just nods, giving no indication that she was right.

She lifts her fist to knock on the door, two crisp knocks in rapid succession, and it strikes James as odd, because there’s a perfectly functional bell just a couple of inches from where her fist met with the door, but then the door opens to reveal a black man on the other side; and James doesn’t think, he just __reacts.__

Within the blink of a second, he has his knife pressed up against Natalia’s neck, the way it was in the alley, and he presses down hard enough to split her skin open and let a thin trail of blood loose.

“Is this some sort of joke to you?” he hisses, not taking his eyes off the black man, who seems to have accurately gauged the situation and has his hands up in surrender instead of making any sudden movements. “You think you could just lead me into an ambush and I would take it lying down?”

He presses the blade closer, ignoring the way the man shouts at him to __get her go man you’ve got this all wrong.__ “Have you forgotten what I can do Natalia?”

“So you remember me,” Natalia wheezes, her voice calm despite the strain of his arm around her. “I wondered.”

She telegraphs her movements, slowly lifting up her hand to bring it into his line of sight. “Sam,” she says, and the black man - who must be Sam, snaps to look at her. “Open up the door. Slowly.”

The door swings open, and Natalia flexes her fingers to catch his attention. “ _ _Soldat,__ read the names on my wrist. This is my soulmate, Samuel Jonathan Wilson. This isn’t an ambush, I promise you.”

He sees the name on her wrist, but dismisses it immediately. Samuel could be the name of anybody, even if she did call the black man Sam. He’s more focused on the name under it, __Steven Grant Rogers.__

“You’re lying,” he snarls. ”You’re lying because I would remember who Stevie’s soulmates were. Where is he? Where is Stevie?” He shouts out the last part, probably waking up some of their white collar neighbours, but he doesn’t care.

Natalia opens her mouth to reply, but the voice that comes out isn’t hers. James looks up to see that Sam has moved from the door, and a familiar face is looking back at him with a mixture of awe and pity. “She’s not lying, Buck. She really is my soulmate.”

“How do I know this isn’t some sort of trick? Something that HYDRA’s come up with in order to gain my trust?”

“My name is Steven Grant Rogers,” he says, with infinite patience, “I used to stuff my shoes with newspapers. When I was 22, I buried my mother. I had a job making comics for the local newspaper, the same one we were paperboys for when we were younger. And I’m with you until the end of the line, pal. Now and always.”

James releases Natalia, barely noticing as she staggers forward into Sam’s arms, because he’s too focused on Stevie. He’s frozen, caught between fear and desperate desire, but Stevie clearly has no such hang ups because the minute James lets go of Natalia, he moves into the space she vacated.

He wraps his arms around James, tight enough to bruise, strong enough that James wouldn’t be able to break free if he tried. Hesitantly, tentatively, James lifts his arms up and reciprocates the motion, his arms fitting around Stevie’s waist, and thinks that he wouldn’t want to break free even if he could, because Stevie’s arms feel like __home.__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know its been longer than usual but uni has started for me and i like to stay two chapters ahead of the chapter im posting; and these chapters just refused to get written


	8. 35 kills // 15 kills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natalie Rushman, from Legal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry it's been so long but hopefully this chapter was worth the wait!!

The plan is this: Natalia is to pose as a non-descript employee of Stark Industries whose only job is to get close to Obadiah Stane. Ostensibly, it’s because her speciality is espionage, because James remembers the Red Room, remembers the classes about sheer clothing, tilted heads and fluttered eyelashes.

In reality, it’s because if James gets close to Stane, close like Natalia will get, nothing - not Stevie, not God, not even Tony - will stop him from reaching into the man’s chest and ripping his heart out. For the plan to work, Stane needs to be alive.

It works out well, because Stane has a thing for redheads. James knows this because of Stane’s PA, Pepper Potts, a woman who is so frighteningly competent that the only logical reason for a business mogul like Stane to keep her as a PA instead of promoting her to a role more suited to her expertise is that Stane doesn’t see her as an asset, he sees her as a _thing._

It’s slimy, perverted in the worst of ways, but today - it is a good thing.

“I’ll say I’m from Legal,” Natalia says. “It won’t take long to drum up some papers that look realistic enough for him to sign. We don’t have a lot of time for this, so I can’t waste any time inserting myself.”

“Are you sure you want to go in alone?” Steve asks, face twisting into something both familiar and unfamiliar to James at the same time. “I don’t know how I feel about you going in without backup.”

“I’ll have backup,” Natalia gestures with her chin. “I’ll have James.”

Sam huffs, “You mean the man who had a knife against your neck not an hour ago? Forgive me if that doesn’t really inspire confidence.”

“That was a misunderstanding,” Steve says slowly, deliberately, and _oh._ James hadn’t realised how precarious the relationship between the three of them was, how new and tentative it was. Suddenly, he feels bad for pulling Stevie into his mess, for not even giving Stevie a chance to figure out his life before he has to save James’ all over again.

The words are on the tip of his tongue, to offer Stevie an out, to say that he’ll handle this himself - but he thinks of Tony arching his back, body stretched taut with pain on the Chair, and he stays his tongue. Stevie has his soulmates next to him, in gripping distance. 

James doesn’t have that same privilege.

“I’m sorry about that,” he offers, and Sam’s head snaps up from where it was lingering on the gauze on Natalia’s neck to look up at him. “I didn’t mean to harm Natalia. She is a reminder of a past that I’m trying to run away from, and it’s been a while since I could trust someone.”

Steve reaches over, and grasps the tips of his fingers, “You can trust us, Buck.” Next to him, Natalia nods, head tipped in acquiescence of Steve’s words. Sam doesn’t say anything, but James takes that as tacit acceptance. 

“Walk me through this one more time,” Sam motions at the plans, “you’re going to honey-pot him. Is that it?”

“Essentially,” Natalia agrees, “but it’s a bit more complicated than that. If Stane is holding Tony, then he’s not going to just give it up to the first pretty thing he sees. He’s too smart for that. What I need is for him to get his guard down around me, for him to slip up.”

“But this whole thing rides on the hypothesis that he doesn’t know that you’re SHIELD,” Sam points out, “what happens if he recognises you?”

James clenches his teeth, “Then we try Plan B. Pulling Tony’s location out of Stane with our bare hands.”

/

It’s been a week since Natalia has been working at SI, masquerading as _Natalie Rushman: Legal,_ and they are no closer to finding out how Stane accesses the basement. James wants to rage, he wants to scream, he wants to shove Natalia against a wall and demand that she work faster because they are losing precious time. Time that they don’t have, time that Tony doesn’t have.

But he stays silent, nails digging into the flesh of his palm as he curls his fingers into fists, because he knows that she is doing him a favour. He knows that she is doing what he couldn’t, what he hasn’t been able to do in all his weeks playing janitor, and for that James owes her more than he could ever possibly repay.

He stays silent because he has no right to demand she do better, not when he failed, and also because he is worried that taking out his frustration on Natalia means that Wilson will make good on his thinly veiled threats to put a bullet in between his eyes, Steve or no Steve.

Wilson has still not forgiven James for the way he made Natalia bleed.

James doesn’t blame him, because had their positions been reversed, James would’ve not forgiven anyone who made his soulmate bleed, but James cannot find it in himself to apologise any more than he already has. Not yet. Not when his sole focus has to be getting Tony back.

He will have time later on to mend fences with Wilson.

“Any harder and you’ll draw blood,” Stevie steps into his line of vision, obstructing James’ view of the pedantic residential neighbourhood that the house is in, and gestures at his hands. Without waiting for a response, Stevie reaches down and grabs his hands, gently but firmly uncurling them from their fists.

“Ah,” he says when he notices the red-rimmed crescent marks decorating James’ palms. “I see I’m too late.”

James hums, “Tony had this theory about soulmates.” Stevie blinks at the topic change but doesn’t call James out on it. It’s a remnant of their friendship that James had forgotten, back when he was still _Bucky,_ and his mind moved a mile a minute, and only Stevie bothered to keep up.

“Actually, it was a theory about multiverses,” he continues, swallowing around the thickening of his throat. “Tony was fascinated by this sort of stuff - the idea that two people are destined for each other, that they’re bound together by this invisible string that pulls them together, prompts them to find each other despite distance and time.”

“He thought it was fate, that we were never supposed to meet, never supposed to breathe the same air, and yet here we were - two broken pieces who found each other in the worst of circumstances; providing some sort of relief to our hell.”

“The theory, Buck?” Steve prompts, and James smiles, a soft small one, because he can’t remember the last time his words got away from him like that.

“Tony believed that there were infinite universes - parallel worlds similar to ours with minute changes. Like the colour of the sky or the names of countries. But he always said that the one constant between all those worlds, all those universes, was soulmates.” He runs a finger against the loopy lettering on his wrist, _Anthony Edward Stark,_ “He said that no matter what universe we were in, that we would always be soulmates.”

Stevie places a hand on his shoulder, his flesh shoulder, and squeezes. “We’re going to find him Buck. I promise you, we’re going to find him.”

James coughs wetly. “He used to come up with theories for the different ways soulmates were linked. ‘ _Names on a wrist are boring’,_ ” he lifts up his fingers and bends them in quotation marks. “His favourite was the idea of soulmates who could feel each other’s pain.

“He thought there was something poetic about knowing the worst parts of your soulmate, and loving them anyway. He didn’t know, you see, what HYDRA did to me, what HYDRA had done to me. He suspected, but they were good about keeping him in the dark about it. He fought with my Handlers constantly about the pain I was feeling because of my metal arm.” He flexes it almost subconsciously. “I think they were worried about what he might do if he found out that my metal arm was the least of my worries.”

“I hated that theory, because I never wanted to burden Tony with my pain. I wanted to shield him from it, wrap him up so that nothing could ever touch him again. Now though, sometimes I wish it _was_ our reality, that I could feel his pain. If only so I could know what he was going through right now.”

Stevie’s face is aghast, and James can tell he’s gearing up to say something, but before he gets to it, Wilson shows up at the door with an indecipherable expression on his face. “Nat’s back. She’s got news.”

James is out of the room before Wilson’s finished, and when he goes down the stairs, he sees Natalia propped up on the dining table, legs dangling slightly because they don’t reach the floor - still in her office clothes. It’s oddly domestic, and for a second, it makes James forget why he’s come down.

“Sam said you had news?” Stevie asks, coming up behind him, and Natalia nods, all business-like. 

“I think I figured out how Stane gets to the basement,” she lifts up a file, “it’s his fingerprints. This file was twisted outwards, and when I reached the lobby; a panel slid open. “It’s extremely high tech, because it sensed an imprint of Stane’s thumb, and it only opened on the lobby - which means it’s designed to only open when the elevator is waiting at the lobby.”

“So what you’re saying is, either SI is in the wrong business, if they’re employing tech engineers that advanced and wasting them on weapons productions,” Wilson says, “or Stark designed the elevator.”

James feels sick at the implications, and swallows down the bile that’s crept up his throat. In front of him, Natalia nods. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. This isn’t the work of an ordinary tech engineer. SHIELD would’ve known if SI was employing someone capable of this kind of stuff.”

“I’m assuming we need all five fingers,” Steve pipes up, “otherwise the elevator would’ve just taken you downstairs instead of just revealing the panel. How are we planning to get the impression of all five?”

James smiles, rough and devoid of happiness, “Leave that to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a note about the chapter names; the slowly increasing kills are not people who James is killing now - but the increasing death count from the events of TWS. they're people that James has indirectly killed.


	9. Interlude: Natasha Romanoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natalia Alianova Romanova: Black Widow, SHIELD Agent, Fugitive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's brief mentions of hyper-sexualisation of teenagers and sexual assault/rape in this chapter. neither is more than a couple of lines, and so i haven't tagged it, but it does exist in this chapter.

If you asked Natasha to sketch out her life, to draw a life of the places she’s seen, the people she’s been, and link it to the person she is now, she would have a hard time. It’s not a weakness she likes to admit, because it serves her and her allies well if her enemies believe she is inscrutable and beyond defeat, but Natasha doesn’t remember much of her life.

She remembers flashes: the ever-present smell of vodka, the weight of brass against her right ankle, the rattling of thick metal chains wrapped around the rickety bed frame. She remembers a small girl named Yelena, with hair so blonde it almost looked white, with rosy cheeks that flushed red in the cold - who was unshackled by _Madame_ one night and never returned.

She remembers the ache in her bones from long hours of training, remembers bullets shot a couple of inches from her foot as she strained to maintain her standing split, remembers the heavy french lilt of her first _Madame._

They aren’t distinct memories though; they aren’t fleshed out in technicolour that she can grasp onto and play on repeat. They’re whispers - shaky, faint impressions that knock on her mind at night and leave her waking up with a hoarse throat and sweat trickling down her back. 

She knows that she was trained in the Red Room, knows how she was trained, and what for. But if you were to ask her to delve into her life before SHIELD, before Sam, before Clint; she’d be hard pressed to give you more than a few lines.

Except for James. Natasha remembers James in stunning clarity. 

When she knew him, he was called _Soldat,_ and he was the most fascinating thing that she’d ever seen. He cut a large, looming figure of taut muscle - and she was only fifteen at the time, but Natasha was in love. 

“This is _Soldat,”_ Madame says, gesturing to the man standing in the corner of the room, “my darlings, it is time you learned how to hone the more pertinent gift that women are given: how to take down a _man._ ”

That night, Yelena shuffles towards Natasha’s bed, as far as her chains would allow, and whispers that she doesn’t think the _Soldat_ is a man. She thinks he’s an automaton, an amalgamation of flesh and metal made for them to test their skills on, because _Madame_ is worried that they won’t be able to control themselves around a man.

“Or,” she says with a thoughtful frown, “Perhaps it is the opposite.” Her hands reach up to her breasts, cupping and moving them slightly. _Madame_ had impressed on them the importance of knowing the different parts of their body and how to use them last week, and ever since, Yelena was obsessed with her idea of her breasts - the idea that they would grow and fill and swell and that men wouldn’t be able to keep their eyes off them. Privately, Natasha thought her legs were much more eye-catching, but she didn’t dare tell Yelena that.

“Perhaps _Madame_ thinks that a real man wouldn’t be able to control himself around us,” Yelena squeezes her nipple through her shirt experimentally, “Wouldn’t that be grand though? A man who can’t wait to put his hands on us?”

Natasha thinks of the way _Madame_ was pressed against her desk, a couple of days ago when Natasha snuck a peek into her office; a hand pushing her face into the desk and her skirt bunched up around her waist, and finds that the idea of a man putting his hands on her doesn’t excite her. Not in the slightest.

A week later, when she’s on her back, panting to catch her breath, she revisits that opinion. _Soldat_ is standing still, feet planted in the ground and arms firmly behind his back. He doesn’t even look like he’s moved an inch, even though Natasha knows that he caught her feet when she attempted to mount his shoulders and swung her onto the floor. 

She thinks she might like a man putting his hands on her if that man is _Soldat._ Automaton or no automaton.

For a while, Natasha entertains fanciful notions that _Soldat_ was her soulmate. She isn’t sure if he’s Samuel or Steven, but she wants him to be; even if neither name quite suits him. It wasn’t that she knew his name, but she tries it out once - looking at _Soldat_ and sounding out the name _Steven Grant Rogers_ to see how it feels on her tongue. It doesn’t feel like his name.

Eventually, _Soldat_ goes back to wherever he comes from; Natasha graduates from the Red Room, and she begins her work for Mother Russia. Later, much later, she wishes that these were the memories she could forget, that these were the memories that escape her - but in the present, Natasha is careful to focus her attention and memorise every one of her missions with clarity.

Before she graduated, _Madame_ had pulled her aside and directed Natasha to meet her in her office. When she got there, _Madame_ gestured for her to sit in the plush chair placed across her desk. The same desk that Natasha had once seen _Madame_ fucked over.

“Natalia,” she’d said, in the voice she usually reserved for lessons. “You will be leaving here soon, leaving me soon, to fulfill your duty to Mother Russia. I want you to leave with one piece of advice. Never forget what they make you do. No matter how gruesome or horrifying, I want you to never forget what they make you do. If you remember what they make you do, you are untouchable to them. Do you understand?”

She didn’t, but she nodded anyway.

She also never forgot _Madame’s_ advice. 

She has a short but successful career working in indentured servitude for Mother Russia; before she comes across Clinton Barton, Agent of SHIELD. Her mission is to end his life; he saves hers instead.

/

The next time she sees _Soldat,_ she expects to still be in love with him. It’s been a couple of years since she met Clint, since she learned of a life outside of the Red Room - and fought tooth and nail to get it.

She’s still finding her feet in the United States, with their brash accents and the men who leer at her even when she’s fully clothed, and the weather that always seems a bit too hot - even in the winter. 

But despite the criminal lack of vodka in the country, Natasha is happy. Working with SHIELD is simultaneously everything and nothing like working for Mother Russia, and she sleeps better knowing that she’s on the right side of things. That she’s doing good, helping people - decent, honest people who don’t deserve what life throws at them.

It also helps that she’s met her soulmate. Samuel Johnathan Wilson is a black man from New York City, but he moved to Washington D.C. after he was honourably discharged from the United States Air Force. He went to NYU to study psychology, and now he works with Veteran Affairs to help soldiers like him get back on their feet.

“I used to be a pararescue,” he told her on their second date, because even though Natasha was willing to jump into bed with him the minute they met - crossing paths at a coffee shop of all places - Sam wanted to treat her right. “I’ve seen things that keep me up at night. I know how hard it is to make the transition to civilian life, and I might not be able to save people the way I used to anymore, but I can do this. I can help these boys get their lives back.”

Even if Natasha made him herself, she wouldn’t have been able to make someone as perfect as Sam. On their fourth date, he takes her to the Smithsonian Institution and quietly tells her the story of their third soulmate, Steven Grant Rogers: Captain America.

“He was from New York City too,” she remarks, reading the description under the larger than life display. “You too might’ve crossed paths if it wasn’t…” she trails off, waving her hands in a way that’s meant to imply _the impossible time difference and the fact that he died before either of us were born._

She’s long given up hope that _Soldat_ is her soulmate, but she expects to love him all the same. She expects to feel the overwhelming rush of emotions that used to consume her when she was a child, the tightening of her throat and the beating of her heart. She expects that the next time she sees him, they will be on opposite sides, and he will win because she will falter at the final second.

When she does finally run into _Soldat,_ on a mission in Bulgaria, it happens almost exactly as she expects. Except, when she spins out of the car that she no longer has control off, bracing her arms around her face as she hits the asphalt and curls out of position only a few feet away from _Soldat,_ the throat doesn’t tighten and her heart quickens for entirely different reasons.

Her heart quickens because he has a gun trained to her, and she only barely manages to escape, the bullet striking her hip instead of her heart.

Later, when she’s made it back to the safehouse and peeled out of her uniform; Clint dabbing cotton to her wound to clean it - she wonders if he missed on purpose or whether she was truly lucky. After a couple of seconds, she realises that she doesn’t care and instead focuses her intentions on helping Clint wrap gauze around the bullet-hole.

It’s not a permanent solution, but it’ll keep her together until they get back to D.C., and she can check herself into a hospital and get it treated by actual doctors.

/

The third time she meets _Soldat,_ she knows his name. James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky to his friends. She’s kept tabs on him over the years, as much as one can keep tabs on a brainwashed assassin trained to stay in the shadows. It was Sam’s idea actually, something he came up with one night after dinner, when they were lying in bed, limbs intertwined.

“Nat, I’m not saying that you still love him,” he’d said in that calm voice of his, the one Natasha hated because it made her feel like a client instead of his soulmate. “And even if you were, that’s none of my business. All I’m saying is, whoever he is, he clearly means something to you. You have the resources with SHIELD; it won’t hurt to put out some feelers.”

She takes Sam up on his advice, reaches out to the few contacts she still has in Russia, keeps her ear to the ground. When she hears that _they_ have _Soldat’s_ soulmate, she’s torn between sorrow for the person caught in their web, and relief that _Soldat_ isn’t alone anymore. 

The feeling unsettles her though, because she thinks she should be more uncomfortable with the idea of an innocent human caught up in _their_ schemes, which is why she pulls back. She doesn’t even think about _Soldat_ again, not until they run into him on the bridge - and Steve confesses in harsh breaths that it’s _Bucky,_ his best friend from a life he left behind when he fell into the water.

The idea that she is a part of the web of lies that haunt her soulmate bothers her more than she admits to herself, which is why she resolves to help anyway she can. She knows that Sam doesn’t approve of her going undercover at Stark Industries - of her putting herself in direct view of Stane - but she also knows that he understands why she’s doing this, why she needs to do this.

Sam’s good like that, unflappably good in a way Natasha has never managed to be in all her years at SHIELD. Some days, she can't believe she wanted anyone else to be her soulmate.

“I think I figured out how Stane gets to the basement,” she says to the three men - and isn’t it some weird sort of fate that all the men she’s ever loved are under one roof, hanging off her every word? “It’s his fingerprints.” She can see the unbridled pride in Sam’s gaze, the awe in Steve’s eyes, the begrudging respect in James’ look, tempered by the tense way he’s holding his jaw. It’s the first real breakthrough they’ve had in weeks, and Natasha can’t help but feel like they’re finally getting something done.

She takes a moment and thinks what it must be like for James - to have his soulmate so close and yet so far. She tries to think of Sam in Anthony’s position, or even Steve - but even the mere idea of it is too painful. She doesn’t know how James is dealing, but if she can help, if she can fix this - it has to be enough.

Rationally, she knows that there’s nothing she could’ve done for James. That she barely escaped with her life, and it was all because of Clint. Still - it doesn’t alleviate the guilt inside of her, the feeling that she abandoned this.

 _“I need to wipe the red out of my ledger,_ ” she’d said to Sam once, when he asked why she agreed to work for SHIELD instead of retiring. This feels a bit like that.

“I’m assuming we need all five fingers,” Steve says, snapping her back to the conversation at hand. “Otherwise the elevator would’ve just taken you downstairs instead of just revealing the panel. How are we planning to get the impression of all five?”

Natasha nods, “The thumb only revealed the panel. I think it’s hyper-sensitive, that’s the only explanation I can come up with. Whoever built this, they knew what they were doing. We definitely need all five fingers.”

James looks at each of them, lips stretched into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, “Leave that to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its crazy to me that this fic has crossed 10k words!! i genuinely did not know i was capable of writing that much, and thank you so much to everyone who's been commenting on this fic. i just wanted to drop in and say that this month is an extremely busy month for me, because i have a couple of competitions and assignments coming up, and so it might be a while till i update this fic. i apologise in advance, and i promise that im not abandoning this fic.


	10. 36 kills // 16 kills (I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They start to move on Natasha's information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a very short chapter, but we're in the endgame now :))

They make a pitstop at the abandoned building James was squatting in before Steve offered for him to stay at the house they’d rented for the next couple of months. Wilson protests, but it’s more perfunctory than anything else.

James is beginning to think that Wilson likes being contrary for the sake of being contrary, at least when he’s concerned, and he doesn’t know if the idea makes him want to laugh or remind Wilson just how dangerous he is.

On the one hand, it’s refreshing to have someone know him, know what he’s capable of, and still not blink. Natalia is the most careful around him, probably because she knows him in a way that the others don’t. She’s always careful to signal her movements around him, make her presence loud and obtrusive. Stevie’s not as bad, but James remembers the carefree way he held himself before, and the stiff back and tense shoulders are definitely new.

Wilson, though, jabs and bites and baits James like one would a chained dog, like he’s aware that James can bite back but doesn’t care. It’s oddly disarming, which, given his history in the V.A, is probably the whole purpose of the way Wilson’s acting. James could easily put an end to it -- a carefully placed knife or even a well-aimed punch would remind Wilson that he’s messing with the Winter Soldier, the fist of HYDRA, but he lets it happen.

As long as Wilson doesn’t directly interfere with their mission to save Tony, he can bait James all he likes. It’s almost like having a younger sibling again. James doesn’t remember much about Rebecca, other than that she used to call him the ‘Buckster’ when she felt like getting him properly worked up and she wore her hair in two pigtails, but the fond irritation is familiar.

“So, what’s in this shithole that was so important you dragged us all here?” Wilson asks, and James flips over his bed in lieu of a response. He knows that this isn’t the sum total of his arsenal —that it doesn’t even scratch the surface of the weapons they had Tony develop for him — but he was well-armed on the bridge, and he’s been careful to not lose a single one of them.

Wilson bends over his shoulder, and whistles lowly, “You’ve got enough to equip a small army there, Barnes.”

“Or one Winter Soldier,” James agrees. “I don’t need all of this stuff because I don’t need to be weighed down, so whatever I don’t pick up is up for grabs.” He stuffs a couple of knives in the slots of his boots and then grabs his favourite guns. He doesn’t have ammo for most of them, so he needs to carry two pistols when he’d usually carry one, but it’s a necessary sacrifice.

In front of him, Natalia is already on her knees and turning a gun in her hands. She slots the magazine into place and holds it up, testing how it feels in her hands; before turning it on it’s head and holding the butt of the gun out to Stevie.

“I know you have that shield of yours,” she says, when he widens his eyes. “But this is HYDRA, Steve. It’s not enough to play defense; you need to play offense, too.”

“She’s right,” James agrees, strapping a rifle across his chest. “When we go in, we’re going to be killing people. You’re going to need a gun for that. Unless you plan on slicing their heads off with the edge of the shield.”

Stevie grimaces at the visual and takes the proffered gun. It looks smaller in his hands than it did in Natalia’s, but James knows from experience that it’s got powerful recoil. Much like Natalia, Stevie feels the weight of it in his hands, lifting it up to check the sight.

“I’d ask you if you still remember how to shoot,” James says dryly. “But knowing you, you’d take that as a challenge and ruin the covert part of our covert op.”

He pushes off the floor, dusting his hands lightly. Not for the first time, he wishes that Stevie hadn’t grabbed his muzzle on the bridge. It was a stifling contraption, and he hated wearing it, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t recognise it’s use. Without it, he feels exposed, like he’s going to slip up.

Without it, he feels like _Bucky Barnes,_ and Tony doesn’t need Bucky Barnes today. He needs the Winter Soldier.

“Does everyone remember the plan?” he asks, and they nod in response.

“Nat goes in first, brings Stane down to the Lobby. Sam’s on civilian duty, clearing them out in case of any fight, which, given our track record is extremely duty. And I’m the muscle,” Stevie recites, like he’s giving a sit-rep to a CO.

James jerks his head, in a facsimile of a nod. “And if everything goes to shit, I’m your back up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry for the long wait!! the next chapter is ready and has been beta'd too - so it'll be up in a couple of days. i do have uni deadlines coming up tho, so i can't promise updates after that will be a bit slow. thank you again for your patience, and all the love ive received for this fic!!


	11. Obadiah Stane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obadiah Stane, CEO of Stark Industries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another POV change?? in this fic?? more likely than you think. i tried to channel extreme sleaze-ball energy in this chapter -- so warnings for sexist language and objectification and hyper-sexualisation of women. this update is out slightly earlier than i planned to put it out because of Rhae, so be sure to head over to [starklystar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starklystar/pseuds/starklystar) and give her fics some love as a thank you!!

“Mr. Stane?” Obadiah looks up to see Natalie ducking her head into his office, wide eyed and simpering. Not for the first time, Obadiah sends a silent thank you to the Stark Industries HR Department. Someone they’ve employed down there clearly knew what he liked, first with Virginia and Natalie.

“I apologise for interrupting, sir,” she starts and Obadiah lifts up a hand to cut her off, “You never have to apologise Natalie. You’re always welcome here.” He smiles at her, and is rewarded with a slight blush on her cheeks. 

_God,_ if she wasn’t Legal, Obadiah would’ve made a move weeks ago. Right now though, she’s a walking sexual harassment suit, and until he can find someone in HR to move her to some other department, it’s not worth the risk.

She steps into his office, and Obadiah lets his gaze drop down the length of her body; from the blouse that’s clinging to her breasts in a way that’s frankly obscene, to the skirt that’s wrapped so tightly around her shapely legs it looks painted on.

He might not be able to touch, but there’s no rule against looking. Damn if it isn’t a sweet sight. Obadiah almost wants to say fuck it and try his hand at getting her on her knees; a sexual harassment claim would make the mopes at Legal earn their buffed up paycheck. There’s something almost petty about making Legal quash a sexual harassment claim against one of their own, but it’s not priority number one. Not now, anyway.

Perhaps in a few weeks, when he feels like Natalie has lived out her usefulness at Stark Industries. 

“Mr. Stane?” Natalie pipes up again, with the air of someone who’s been trying to get his attention for a couple of seconds, and Obadiah snaps his gaze back up to her face.

“My apologies, Ms. Rushman, I was lost in thought. You know how it is,” he says with a smile, and it’s almost pitiful the way she ducks her head. At this point, she couldn’t be more obvious if she gave him a written invitation to sleep with her. 

“That’s okay Mr. Stane. I just came up to let you know that someone’s asking for you in the lobby.”

Obadiah frowns at that. “I have a PA for that sort of stuff, and she hasn’t told me anything of the sort.”

Natalie flushes, like she’s nervous about being in trouble. “Oh, I was on my way to you anyway, so I offered to take the message up. Virginia’s on her lunch break, and it seemed unnecessary to interrupt her.”

 _Ah._ Obadiah smiles, and looks over the files he’s got spread over his desk. It’s nothing important, just a couple of sales that need to be corrected in case someone asks to go through their records and notices that there are entire shipments of missiles that have gone missing. 

It takes a couple of seconds to shift the papers under the never-ending stack of documents that pile up so nobody chances upon them when he’s out of office. Obadiah pushes out of his seat and walks over to Natalie with a smile, close enough that he could cup her waist and pull her closer if he wanted to.

“After you, Ms. Rushman,” he gestures, waiting for a couple of seconds, just to watch the way her ass shifts with every strut. “We can talk on the way down.”

“Of course, Mr. Stane,” she says, bending forward to press the button for the elevator. It makes her dress stretch, and Obadiah glances down ever so slightly, barely resisting the urge to adjust his trousers when he sees the rough outline of her thong.

 _‘She’d probably like it better if I didn’t adjust my trousers’,_ he thinks. ‘ _Fucking tease’_. 

Mercifully, when the elevators open, there’s already someone inside -- one of their janitors. Generally, Obadiah doesn’t notice their support staff, but he’s seen this janitor working the lobby when he’s on his way to visit Tony, and the man’s always got a ready smile for him. 

Today is no different, when he notices Obadiah, he looks up and smiles, one that Obie automatically returns. He hasn’t got his trolley or his mop on him, which must mean that he’s just coming off a shift. Absently, Obadiah makes a note that he should talk to someone about getting the janitor a raise for his services. It’s always good to give their service staff a little extra; it serves to keep them quiet about any unusual things they might see while working at SI.

It’s a quiet trip down to the lobby, and Obadiah tries his level best not to smile. It only serves as more proof that Natalie wasn’t looking for him for any business, not of the professional variety anyway, and the janitor is probably throwing a slight wrench in her plans. 

The elevator dings to signal that they’ve reached the lobby, and Obadiah moves to exit, but he’s stopped by Natalie’s hand shooting out, her fingers wrapping around his right bicep and squeezing.

“Not just yet Mr. Stane,” she says in a saccharine voice. “We’re not done with you.”

Obadiah barely has time to wonder who ‘ _we’_ is before he feels the cool press of a needle against his neck, and his world goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is probably going to be the last update for this year, because i have deadlines slowly creeping up and i want to take a bit of time to flesh out the next couple of chapters properly,,,but hopefully this tides you over till then!!


	12. 36 kills // 16 kills (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They enter the basement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know im super late, but happy new year everyone!! hopefully this year is much better for everybody than 2020, sending you all positive vibes!!

The first thing that occurs to James when the elevator doors open to reveal the hidden basement is that they have somehow, inexplicably, been transported to an alternate dimension. A cold, dark dimension, for all that the basement is well lit, clearly governed by technology, but an alternate dimension nonetheless. The thought is fleeting, and arguably ridiculous, but it is still the first thought he has.

It isn’t that James is a stranger to unfamiliar surroundings. He’s never quite been able to gauge the passage of time in between his stints in cryo, and every time he was defrosted, it felt like a completely new world was waiting for him. The people, the smells, the surroundings were always different, and while some of that could be attributed to the fact that they were rarely in the same country, these past three years have taught James that technology is progressing more rapidly than he could’ve ever imagined when he was still a boy from Brooklyn.

This basement, though, is unlike anything he’s ever seen. Next to him, both Natalia and Wilson widen their eyes, as if they’ve never seen anything like it. It is extremely possible that there is not a single place on Earth that is more advanced than this basement, and that’s how James knows he’s in the right place.

Also, the hair on the back of his neck is standing up straight in attention, and there’s a familiar twist in his gut that James has come to associate with HYDRA bases. It’s hard to put into words, but there’s something about a HYDRA base that feels like it’s the place happiness and joy come to die; it’s extremely distinctive. 

The turn of phrase sounds suspiciously like something Tony would say, so James doesn’t dwell on it much, simply turning towards the trio standing behind him to say, “This is the place.”

Natalia nods, as if corroborating his statement, and Stevie grips his shield tighter. The motion also jostles Stane, who’s unconscious and resting on Stevie’s side, because they haven’t quite yet decided what they’re going to do with him. James is in favour of killing him, but Natalia seems to believe that he might have some further use.

As if noticing the indecision on his face, Wilson says, “I can stay with him, make sure he doesn’t get up to anything. You can take Steve and Nat, get Stark out of here.” It’s a generous offer, one that James is glad for, because he doesn’t yet trust Wilson to have his back the way he does Stevie and Natalia.

Before he can voice his thanks however, Stevie claps him on his shoulder, and pulls Stane up by the scruff of his shirt, pushing him against a wall. Wilson moves to stand in front of him, shielding Stane partially with his body, and James takes one final glance to make sure that he’s still knocked out before he turns back to Stevie. 

“Clearly we’ve got some ground to cover,” Stevie says, slipping into his role as a leader flawlessly. “And I think it’s safe that we assume this place is at least as big as Stark Industries, if not bigger. You said that Tony was good with technology?”

James nods, and Stevie continues, seemingly satisfied, “Then we follow the technology. It makes the most sense that the best equipment is going to be closest to wherever Tony is, because from what you’ve told me about HYDRA, they would want Tony to be working immediately. Can’t say I see them giving him the luxury of a nice place to sleep and resting quarters, so let’s just assume that the highest concentration of technology is going to lead us to him.

“Natasha, you’re probably the best judge of what’s high tech and what’s normal, so I’m expecting you to keep us up to speed. All of this stuff looks like it belongs two centuries ahead of our time to me, so I’ll take the rear, make sure we’ve not got any HYDRA stragglers mulling about. Buck - you’re behind Nat.”

“Wait,” James says, just before they start moving, “When we find Tony, I don’t--” he takes in a deep breath and continues. “You don’t know what I was like, before they let me out of the Chair. Natalia knows some, but I was completely brainwashed. I didn’t have control over my mind, over my body, I just did what they told me to do. I was a gun, and they pointed me where they wanted me to shoot.

“When they found out Tony was my soulmate, they started doing the same to him. I don’t know how long it’s been since he’s been in the Chair, I don’t know if he’ll remember me. He’s enhanced. Not like me, but I remember they injected him with something. It made him scream with pain, but it also made him glow.”

James furrows his brows, “They made him run tests to see what his abilities were. I can’t remember what all of them were, but he isn’t human. Not completely. He’s stronger, faster, heals quicker. He’s a formidable asset; __they__ made him a formidable asset.”

“Why are you telling us this Buck?” Stevie asks, soft but unsure. “It sounds like you’re preparing us for an enemy.”

James shrugs haplessly. “Because if Tony’s been in the Chair recently, he __is__ the enemy. You need to know what he’s capable of, what he can do, because there’s a good chance that HYDRA have prepared him for the eventuality that I might try to rescue him. It doesn’t matter that I’m his soulmate; it doesn’t matter that I’m here to save him from this life. All he’ll know is that I’m his mission, and you __always__ complete your mission.

“All I’m saying is,” James clenches his hands to disguise the way they’re shaking. “Be prepared to use force if necessary, and if you can, try to avoid hurting him. But if it’s a choice between injuring him and killing him, I’d rather you break his bones.”

Something flickers between Natalia’s eyes, and he can see the way Steve’s shoulders bunch up, like he’s preparing for a fight, but he needs them to understand this. He knows what he’s asking of them, asking of himself - the mere idea of anyone even lifting a finger against Tony makes him want to roar and beat his chest like he’s a caveman. He knows deep down, though, that they can order Tony to kill him, that Tony can press a gun against the side of his head, and James won’t even try to defend himself. 

He knows that Tony’s memories will come back, that they’ll let him remember hurting James, killing James, and Tony will drive himself mad with grief. Tony’s soft in a way James never was — the kind of person who’d rather use a piece of paper to softly usher out a spider instead of stomp it. Tony won’t be able to stomach the violence and the pain they’ll make him inflict in the name of HYDRA, will never forgive himself for what his hands might do.

James hasn’t been able to protect him from a lot, but __this,__ the crushing guilt and agony of doing harm to others, James wants to spare him this. Even if it means saving Tony from himself.

“Please,” he says, looking at them imploringly, “Please. I know what I’m asking of you, but please.”

“Okay,” Natalia says, after a couple of moments, “If it means saving you from him, I will stop Tony.”

James turns to Stevie next, and Stevie doesn’t say anything, but the stubborn set in his jaw tells James that he understands, even if he doesn’t agree with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as some of you may have noticed, the chapter count has finally been revealed, because i have completely finished this fic!! my writing goal for 2021 was to finish this fic, and i really thought it was going to take another couple of months because my muse is so fickle, but i managed to bang out the rest of this fic all in one day, and im so excited to share it with you guys!! updates will be every couple of days, just to keep the suspense, and i hope you enjoy!!


	13. 36 kills // 16 kills (III)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finds something (or someone)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a note that from chapter 10 onwards, there is direct continuity. the events of this chapter directly follow the events of the previous chapter, and the events of the next chapter will directly follow the events of this one. there is no time lapse at all

They don’t completely split off, because the basement is uncharted territory, and they have no means of communication if something happens. But after an hour or so, they start moving in different directions. It helps them cover more ground, because the basement is a maze of corners and corridors and rooms that James continually kicks open, hoping that this is the one they find Tony in.

It’s tedious work, and with each passing minute, James can feel himself getting more and more frustrated. The basement isn’t like any HYDRA base that he’s seen before, meaning that Stane clearly has a much bigger presence in HYDRA than they previously suspected. Perhaps Natalia had a point when she said that Stane was worth more alive than dead.

“Buck!” Steve calls out, “Over here! I think I found something! Or someone! I can’t -”

James is running even before Stevie even finishes his sentence, following the sound of his voice to a room that is clearly the centre of the basement, because it looks like technology has exploded here. Where the rest of the basement was barren, almost clinically empty, this place looks lived in.

\- really tell,” Stevie continues, softer now that James is in front of him, “I didn’t want to get close, because of…” he trails off, but James can fill in the blanks, _because of what you said,_ “so I figured I’d just wait for you or Nat.”

James follows Stevie’s line of sight, and almost unconsciously, his body arrests with tension. He doesn’t know how he missed it during his initial sweep of the room, but in the left corner is a Chair. Not the one they used on James, but functionally the exact same. More importantly, though, is the man strapped down to the Chair, buckles around his arms and legs and eyes closed.

“Tony,” James breathes, and he makes an aborted movement to go near him before Stevie catches his arms. He turns and snarls at Stevie without thinking, because Tony is _right there,_ and Stevie is stopping him from going near him, and James can’t come up with a single reason why.

“Bucky,” Stevie says, and then again, more insistently when James won’t stop trying to pull out his grasp, “Buck, _look_. They’ve got him hooked up to something. We don’t know what that thing is, and moving Tony might kill him. You said it yourself, we don’t know what we’re walking into here.”

“He’s right,” Natalia says, showing up on the other side of him, silent as a cat, “Look at his arms. They’ve got something hooked under his veins. It might be that thing you said they injected him with, the thing that makes him glow. We can’t move him James — not without knowing what it is they’re doing to him.”

James shrugs off Stevie’s grip, “Fine, I won’t move him. But let me release the restraints on him.” James wants nothing more than to wrap Tony up in his arms, to bundle him up against his chest and run from this place, run until nobody can find them, nobody can ever hurt them again. He knows that Natalia is right, though, so he simply grips the leather restraints and pulls until they tear in his arms. It’s quick work, but through it all, Tony doesn’t stir; he doesn’t even move.

The Tony that James knows, the Tony that James loves, he’s full of energy. He can never sit still, always fiddling with his fingers or bouncing his leg or biting his lip. He’s never so motionless, never so still. It terrifies James, to see Tony like this, like he’s dead. If it weren’t for the subtle rise and fall of his chest, James might actually think he was.

Carefully, James lifts his flesh hand to Tony’s face, brushing away the stray curls that have fallen across his forehead, and leans down to press a featherlight kiss to his forehead. The last time James did this, Tony wrinkled his nose, and there was a faint blush on his cheeks for the rest of the night. Now, Tony doesn’t even flinch.

“I’m here, my love,” James whispers, “I’m here, and I’m sorry I took so long.”

“I’ll call Sam, have him bring Stane in here,” Natalia says, reminding James that he isn’t alone with Tony, that he’s got an audience. “If anyone knows what’s going into Tony. It’s going to be Stane.”

She’s gone before James can even formulate a reply, and he doesn’t even look up to watch her leave. He’s too focused on Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so,,what do we think? 👀


	14. 36 kills // 16 kills (IV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam wakes Stane up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a slight POV change in this chapter, to Sam's POV. this is the last POV change, the next two chapters will be in James' POV. As mentioned last chapter, the events of this chapter directly follow the events of the last chapter

“So you found him then?” Sam asks, bending down so he can loop one of Stane’s hands over his shoulder and bring him up to a standing position before resting him up against the wall. He doesn’t plan on carrying Stane’s limp body to wherever they found Stark, but he also doesn’t like the idea of Stane waking up on the floor. 

“What’s he look like?”

“Like he’s been the captive of a nazi organisation,” Natasha replies bluntly. “They had him strapped to some sort of chair, elevated like he was some sort of science experiment. He looked like some sort of twisted remix of one of those cadavers they have medical students practise on.”

“They’re injecting him with something, but we have no idea what.” Natasha gestures towards Stane, “That’s what we need him for. James wanted to move him immediately, but without knowing what they’re putting in him, I don’t want to move him.”

“It’s a solid plan,” Sam says, and slaps Stane lightly, “Wake up old man, time to earn your keep.” It takes a couple of pats before Stane rouses, groaning from the head wound and blinking to adjust to his surroundings. The minute he’s alert though, he moves towards Sam, and only stops when he sees the gun Sam’s got aimed at him.

“Who are you?” Stane asks, managing to sound supremely bored even though Sam knows that he’s got to be shitting himself from the way he’s clenching and unclenching his fists. “Stark Industries doesn’t pay ransom; has nobody ever told you that?”

“Oh, we’re not here for your money,” Sam says lightly. “We’re here for something much more important. And you are going to help us get it. It’s the only reason you’re still alive.” Stane looks around, and Sam can tell the moment he realises where they are, because he rounds on Sam again like he’s forgotten about the gun.

Before he can even take a step though, Natasha steps in front of him, pressing her gun to the nape of his neck, “No sudden movements. Don’t make me regret keeping you alive.”

“Natalie Rushman,” Stane says with a huff. “Always knew you were a feisty one. Guess I was right; you were coming to my office for more than paperwork.” 

Stane gives Sam a once-over, before turning his gaze back to Natasha, and licking his lips. It takes supreme effort on Sam’s part to fight the urge to put a bullet in between his eyes. It was one thing to stand by and let him objectify Nat when she was honey-potting him, but the arrogance of the man to check her out when she’s holding a gun to him? 

Fucking entitled white men.

“He doesn’t look like he can give you what you need baby,” Stane sneers. “You should come with me. All it takes is a single bullet to his head, and I promise you, I can give you what you need. Once I’m done with you, your legs will be shaking. That’s a promise.”

Natasha just presses her gun deeper into his skin, hard enough that Stane flinches. Sam’s reasonably certain that it’s going to leave a mark, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been more attracted to her. He knows better than to step in, because she’s got it handled, but he moves slightly closer anyway, letting her know that he’s here.

“Another word out of your mouth, and I’m going to start shooting. I’ll start with something small, like your toes. Or your dick. Now start walking.”

At that, Stane pales, and he obediently shuffles forward, Natasha right next to him. Sam follows them, just in case there’s someone other than them in this basement. He knows that Steve cleared it earlier, but it never hurts to be careful. There have been enough surprises over the past couple of weeks, and Sam is really looking forward to something going easy for them.

They turn a corner and enter a room that is exponentially busier than the rest of the basement, much brighter and covered in various tech so advanced that Sam wouldn’t be able to make any sense of it if he tried. In the corner, hunched over a still figure, is Barnes, and almost immediately Sam realises that the still figure must be Stark.

He thinks Barnes is whispering something to Stark, while his hands are continually moving through his hair, and it’s an uncharacteristically soft look on the man; completely out of sync with the image of Barnes that Sam has in his head. Then again, the man is being reunited with his soulmate after god knows how long apart. Sam tries to think about if the roles were reversed, if it was Steve or Nat where Stark is, and he can’t stop the full body shudder at the idea.

Speaking of -

“Steve?” The man in question turns when he hears his name. “You okay man?”

Steve nods, and shuffles closer, probably because he doesn’t want to yell, “The basement is completely deserted. I don’t think anybody but Stane even comes down here. Bucky hasn’t moved from Tony’s side since we got here. I want to do something but I don’t -”

Sam reaches out and clasps his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly, “There’s nothing you can do, man. You got us to Malibu; you got him here. You helped him get to Tony. That's the most any of us can do.”

“I know, I just -” Steve wrinkles his nose, like he’s tasted something foul. “I know it’s not the same, but I keep thinking about how Natasha was with the Red Room, with an organisation just like this. This could be her, and I hate that I’m so relieved that Natasha got out before I ever had to see her like that. That’s his _soulmate_ there, and I’m feeling relieved that it’s not mine.”

“I had the same thought,” Sam admits softly, tilting his head when Steve looks at him when raised eyebrows, “When we entered, my first thought was what it would feel like if it had been you or Nat there. And it was only for a second, but I couldn’t even stomach the possibility. I get it, but it’s not you guys, it’s Stark and Barnes, and whatever they need to heal from this, you know that we’ll be here to give it to them.”

Steve clenches his jaw, the way he does when he’s got a mission and goes into what Sam likes to call _Captain America_ mode in the privacy of his mind. It’s oddly endearing, like a vicious golden retriever, and Sam resists the urge to lean up and kiss his cheek. 

“What’s in the bag?” Natasha asks, in a tone that suggests this isn’t the first time she’s asking Stane. “You’re injecting him with something, what is it?”

Stane is on his knees, and Natasha’s moved her gun so that it’s pointing at his temple, and Sam can’t help but feel like there’s something very wrong with this image. They’re all focused on Stane, even Barnes, who’s moved so that his back is facing Stark, like he can shield him with his body, and yet, Sam gets the oddest feeling that Stane thinks he’s in charge.

“It’s just nutrients,” Stane admits, “I didn’t want to keep waking him up to feed him, so we put in an IV so we wouldn’t have to bother with that. It’s just enough to keep him healthy; I didn’t need him getting scurvy and dying. Not when he hasn’t outlived his usefulness.”

“Isn’t that right, _Aegis_?” Stane says, louder than he needs to, considering that Natasha is standing right next to him, “but naptime is over, boy, and now it’s time to _protect your Handler._ ”

The room plunges into darkness and Sam hears Barnes yell out. A single gunshot is fired, someone stumbles backwards with a shout of pain, and Sam feels his heart drop when he realises that the shout of pain came from Natasha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only two chapters to go!!


	15. 36 kills // 16 kills (V)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aegis wakes up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i posted just yesterday, but i have an application due by the end of day and i wanted something nice in my inbox once i was done with it so im shamelessly posting this two days early for comments

“Isn’t that right _Aegis?”_ Stane asks, and James remembers with stunning clarity what he had forgotten to tell Natalia and Stevie.

_“Your name,” Pierce says slowly, “is Aegis”_

_Anthony mouths the words back blankly, and a look of satisfaction crosses Pierce’s face._

_“You are the property of HYDRA,” Pierce continues, and then turns Anthony’s face back towards the Asset, “and you are to be his leash.”_

“No!” James yells out, but before he can move, Tony has an arm wrapped around his neck and is pulling James towards him. In one swift movement, Tony tugs the gun out of his thigh holster and aims it at Natalia, striking her in the shoulder and causing her to fumble backwards.

_“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Pierce asks, as though he’s making polite conversation with the Asset. The Asset offers no reply. It isn’t expected to. In front of them, Aegis is sitting cross legged in front of a computer, hands bound behind his back, and his eyes glowing blue. The rest of him is bathed in a soft gold._

_“He’s controlling the computer with his mind,” Pierce continues with a wide grin, “the possibilities of this serum, they’re immense. Just think about it, in this new age where technology is king, where nobody is ever more than a couple of centimetres from their phone -- he can control all of it.”_

The room is thrown into darkness, likely because Tony knows that he’s outnumbered and at a distinct disadvantage, but the lights will have to come on eventually. That’s probably why Tony hasn’t released his grip on James’ neck, and from his periphery, James can see that Tony’s glowing.

“Tony?” James tries, even though he knows it’s futile, “Tony, it’s me. It’s James. Do you know who I am?”

“James Buchanan Barnes, Designation: Asset,” Tony intones, voice hoarse from disuse and so soft that James can only hear him because he’s right in front of him. James was scared of this, but he was also prepared for it. “Threat Level 6. Primary Directive: Return to HYDRA. Secondary Directive: Kill on Sight.”

James lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. If Tony’s primary directive is to keep him alive, that means that James still might have a chance. He keeps his voice low, similar to how it used to be when it was just the two of them, and also because he knows that it calms Tony down.

“You once told me something, about the words on the underside of our wrists,” James says, “Do you remember that? Do you remember what you told me?”

James can’t see what Tony’s face looks like, but he’s pretty sure that Tony’s frowning. He hasn’t made any more movements, nor has he turned back on the lights, which means that James could be getting through to him.

He knows that he’s wasting precious time, because Natalia’s been shot and if the sounds he’s hearing are any indication, the darkness is making it hard for Stevie and Wilson to get control over the situation, to get control over _Stane,_ but this is the only way he knows to get through to Tony.

“You told me that we were soulmates,” he continues, stressing on the word _soulmate_ , hoping that it triggers something, “Do you know what that means?”

“James Buchanan Barnes, Designation: Soulmate?” Tony tries, an odd inflection in his voice, like he doesn’t understand what James is saying.

“Yeah, doll, designation soulmate. You’re the one who taught me that word. I’m the person who helps with your pain.”

“James Buchanan Barnes, Designation: Soulmate,” Tony repeats, “Primary Directive: Helps with pain?” He sounds so uncertain, and James wants to turn around, pull Tony into his arms and promise him that nothing’s ever going to hurt him again, that he’s never going to tell him out of his sight, but he knows that sudden movements will do more harm than good. He settles for nodding as much as he can even though Tony’s still gripping his neck, big motions that Tony will feel even if he can’t see.

“I’m not here to hurt you, doll,” James says, keeping the same even tone. “I’m here to help you. You just have to let me.”

James can feel Tony’s grip loosening imperceptibly, and he knows he’s gotten through to Tony. There’s still so much ground for them to cover, healing that Tony needs to do before he’s anything like _his_ Tony, but this is how it starts. This is how it always started anytime James was wiped and Tony had to reintroduce himself as the Assistant, years when James looked at him and felt nothing and Tony tried his best to disguise the disappointment he was feeling, even though James could see it on his face.

“Put the gun down doll, and let me help you,” James coaxes, “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”

“James Buchanan Barnes, Designation: Soulmate,” Tony says it like he’s trying to memorise it, trying to erase his previous instructions, and James’ heart soars because his soulmate is so strong, so powerful, despite everything.

But then Stane barks, “Aegis, Lights!” and from the way Tony stiffens and the lights snap back on, just as quickly as they turned off, James knows all the progress he made was useless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a reminder since we're only a chapter away from this fic being completed -- this is supposed to be the first story in a series 😉 (i.e i have more works planned in this verse)


	16. 37 kills // 17 kills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Final Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one final time, i want to give this massive shout-out to Amy (ohjustpeachy) and Steph (redsridinghood), my amazing betas, without whom this fic would not have been possible. they checked my grammar, they left me encouraging notes, they watched my spelling, they made sure i didn't have any plotholes and everything tied up well together. i genuinely could not have done this without them, and im so so blessed to have both of them

Natalia is on the floor, a couple feet away from Stane, bleeding. She’s disarmed, Wilson crouching over her in a protective stance and Stane’s gripping her gun in one hand, using the other to push himself off the ground. Stevie’s on the floor next to Stane, arms raised up in surrender and shield strapped onto his back. There’s a second when nobody knows what to do, James in Tony’s arms and Stevie and Wilson frozen in place.

Then, Sam moves to help Natalia up to her feet just as Stevie lifts his hands and reaches for his shield. Stane flips the safety off the gun, making Stevie still once again.

“I wouldn’t try that if I were you,” Stane says, smiling, “Even if you manage to get to me before Aegis blows _his_ head off, I don’t think my death will be as satisfying for you as you think it’s going to be.”

“I’m willing to take that bet,” Stevie growls. “Put the gun down, let us walk out of here with Tony, and nobody has to get hurt. You can still come back from this, Stane; you can still walk away with your life.”

“You’re _him_ , aren’t you?” Stane says, ignoring Stevie and talking directly to James, “You’re James Buchanan Barnes. God, I can’t believe you’re still alive. You survived the War, and HYDRA, it’s remarkable really. Howard would be shitting bricks right now if he knew. Captain America and his trusty sidekick Bucky Barnes. The way Howard spoke about the two of you, I always wondered if Tony maybe had a defunct soulmark.

“Brothers in arms,” Stane continues, in a mock imitation of Howard Stark. “Never apart. I was sure you guys must’ve been doing it on the down low. Stress relief in the trenches and all that. God, you should’ve seen Howard’s face when he found out who his son’s soulmate was. He was sure that it was a sign that Captain America was still alive.”

“Did you know about that?” Stane turns to Stevie, “About Howard’s boner for you? It drove Tony nuts, knowing that he was always second best to a ghost. And then to be stuck with Captain America’s dead sidekick as his soulmate. Man, it fucked the kid up. I wonder how he took the news that you weren’t dead, that you were alive this whole time, doing HYDRA’s bidding.

“Man, I gotta tell you, when I found out what HYDRA had really done with you, it was the sweetest gift ever. The kid was already eating out of my hand, what with the way Howard dismissed him and beat him whenever he felt like it, but the opportunity to use his soulmate against him? Someone up there was really shining down on me that day.”

Stane must realise James’ blank face, because he almost chokes on his own laugh, “Oh my god, you don’t know, do you? Have you never wondered how Tony ended up in HYDRA’s hands? Why nobody ever came looking for the boy? I mean, he’s Tony Stark for god’s sake, surely you had to imagine someone would be missing him.”

James has nothing to say to that. Vaguely, he knew that Tony was important, that Tony was more than just his soulmate. That Tony had a life before HYDRA, in the same way that he did with Stevie and Becca and the War. Before Stane started needling him, though, it never occurred to him to look into what Tony’s life was like before HYDRA, what it is they took him from. He’s been so focused on putting himself back together that he’s never stopped to think about how to put Tony back together.

Did Tony have a girlfriend before HYDRA? Did he have a Stevie? Did he have people looking for him?

“Tony’s parents are dead,” Stane offers, with a smirk, “HYDRA killed them. No, that’s not right. Let me rephrase. HYDRA had _you_ kill them.”

In one swift motion, James grabs his gun from Tony’s arms, aims it at Stane, and fires three shots in quick succession. Stane is dead before he hits the ground, and he falls with a thud, blood leaking out of the bullet holes and pooling onto the floor.

_There is pity in the Assistant’s eyes, but the Asset is unsure why. “A soulmate is your person,” he explains softly, “The person you love, the person you trust, the person who -”_

_“- Who helps with your pain?” The Asset asks with halting uncertainty, and the Assistant nods._

_“Yeah, the person who helps with your pain.”_

James had killed his _parents._ James was the reason Tony had nobody looking for him, why Tony didn’t get to lead a perfectly normal life with a perfectly normal soulmate, why HYDRA were able to grab him and mold him into their plaything, rip him apart from the inside and turn him into this husk of a man. He’s probably the reason why HYDRA even targeted Tony in the first place. Everything that’s happened to Tony with HYDRA, it starts with James. It starts with James as the Asset; it starts with the fact that Tony is _his_ soulmate.

“James Buchanan Barnes, Designation: Soulmate,” Tony’s voice startles James, because it's shaky and uncertain, but louder than it was before. Loud enough that James doesn’t have to strain to hear him. He turns to face Tony, his hand reaching up to grasp Tony’s and carefully pry his fingers away from his neck. Tony lets him, eyes wide, looking at James like he has all the answers to questions Tony doesn’t even know how to begin to ask, before shifting his gaze.

“James Buchanan Barnes, Designation: Soulmate, Primary Directive: No more pain.” Tony is looking over his shoulder, and when James follows his line of sight, it’s towards Stane’s limp body.

“Anthony Edward Stark, Designation: Soulmate,” James cups his cheek, hoping that Tony understands what he’s saying, “Primary Directive: No more pain.”

Tony nods slowly, and James gives into the urge to pull Tony in close, moving so that he can direct Tony’s head to the crook in his neck and wrap his arms completely around Tony. It takes a second, but Tony melts into the embrace, his body remembering what his mind doesn’t yet.

“Nobody’s ever going to hurt you again, doll,” James whispers fiercely, “Ever again. I promise you.”

 _‘Not even me,’_ he thinks silently, holding Tony in his arms with the knowledge that he might never get to hold Tony like this again.

\- end of part 1 -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and thats the fic!! 
> 
> coming up next (read: whenever i find the time to write it) is a time-stamp of James and Tony during their time with HYDRA, because i know we didn't get to see a lot of Tony in this fic, and after that, the next instalment in this series!! of course, this is dependant on time and the muse not abandoning me, but im not ready to throw in the towel on these dorks yet so here's hoping!! 
> 
> this is the biggest thing i've ever written, and i still can't believe that ive finished it. it was so amazing to see familiar usernames show up every single chapter, so thank you so much for all your support on this fic!! ive got quite a few other buckytony fics up on ao3 if you fancy checking those out, and you can also find me on twitter, and also occasionally on tumblr - to chat about all things buckytony (and most other tony ships if i'm being honest). so if you wanna drop an ask about this fic, or just buckytony in general, or just to say hi, feel free!! you can also find details on how to support me since i do fanfiction alongside an extremely demanding law degree
> 
> until next time!!  
> \- Adi

**Author's Note:**

> i'm also on [tumblr](https://ad1thi.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/desitonystark)  
> 


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